Page 134 of A House of Gold
Croesus is quiet for a moment. Then he stands, moves around the table, kneels beside my chair so we're eye level.
"Then I'll put you back together." His hand finds mine. "As many times as it takes."
"You won't be able to. Once I leave for the House of Ruin..."
"Do you think I'm just going to forget about you the moment you walk out my door?" His voice is fierce. "That I'll let Seraph or any of the others treat you like you're disposable?"
"You won't have a choice. The contracts are intense."
"Fuck the contracts." He grips my hand tighter. "Yes, you owe them time. Yes, they'll each claim their year. But that doesn't mean I stop protecting you. That doesn't mean I stop caring what happens to you."
Through the binding, I feel the truth of it. The possessiveness that's transformed into something deeper. The greed that's become need.
"The others won't like that," I say quietly. "They'll see it as you overstepping. Interfering."
"Let them." His eyes burn gold. "I've spent years not giving a damn what the other houses think. I'm not starting now."
"Croesus."
"When your year with me is up," he continues, "you'll go to Seraph. Then Idris. Then the others, one by one. And each of them will want what I have, your trust, your loyalty, maybe even your affection." His thumb strokes across my knuckles. "But here's what they won't understand: you're not something that can be claimed. You're someone who has to be earned."
"I'm not sure that distinction will matter to them."
"Then they'll learn." He stands, pulls me up with him. "Come. We need to prepare you for the meeting. You need to know what you're walking into."
Something in me shifts. He trusts me now, trusts me enough to tell me what I need to know to stay as safe as I can be. He leads me to his study, the same room where we first negotiated my terms of service. The massive desk, the bookshelves, the window showing impossible views. But now there's something new: a large table with what looks like a three-dimensional map hovering above it.
Seven points of light, arranged in a circle.
"The Seven Houses," Croesus explains, gesturing at the display. "Each one a pocket dimension anchored to the mortal world. Each one a sovereign territory." He points to a golden light. "Gold, me. Neutral stance, careful politics, focused on accumulation and preservation."
He moves to a platinum light. "Ruin, Seraph. Pride incarnate. His house is perfection made manifest, and he expects everyone in it to meet impossible standards. He'll critique everything about you. Don't let him see it bothers you."
A shifting, iridescent light. "Regret, Idris. Envy. Master manipulator. They'll get inside your head, make you doubt everything. The trick is knowing when they're lying and when they're telling uncomfortable truths."
A red light that pulses like a heartbeat. "Fury, Kael. Wrath. Violent, direct, no patience for games. He'll respect strengthand despise weakness. Don't back down from him, but don't challenge him directly unless you're ready for a fight."
A rose-gold light that seems to shimmer. "Conceit, Lysander. Lust. Charming, seductive, and absolutely without conscience. He'll try to seduce you within five minutes of meeting you. It's not personal, it's just what he does."
A warm amber light. "Hunger, Dorian. Gluttony. Excess in everything. He'll want to consume your uniqueness, your power, everything that makes you interesting. Keep your distance."
And finally, a pale, almost colorless light that barely registers. "Apathy, Caspian. Sloth. The most dangerous because he cares about nothing. Not Heaven, not Hell, not even his own survival. He'll watch everything happen with perfect indifference."
I study the display, memorizing the positions. "And they all hate each other."
"Not hate, exactly. Competition. Resentment. Three thousand years of grudges and territorial disputes and philosophical differences." Croesus waves his hand and the display shifts, showing connections between the lights, some red, some amber, some barely visible. "Seraph and Idris haven't spoken in centuries, not on a personal level. Kael would burn Lysander's House down if he thought he could get away with it. Dorian and I have an understanding, but it's fragile."
"But they'll work together for this."
"They'll tolerate each other for this." He looks at me. "There's a difference."
I take a breath, try to center myself. "What do you need me to do? At the meeting."
"Let me do most of the talking. I'll present the evidence, your grandmother's research, the missing souls, the attack. They'll have questions. Answer honestly, but don't volunteer information." He moves closer. "And Raven? When they look atyou, when they assess you, remember: you're not prey. You'remysin eater. You broke forty-seven contracts. You survived a collector attack. You're stronger than they expect."
"I don't feel strong."
"Strength isn't about feeling. It's about standing up when everything in you wants to run." His hands frame my face. "You've been doing that since you were nineteen years old. Since the moment you decided to raise your sister instead of saving yourself."
